


(My God, He Just) Came and Went

by Brokenpitchpipe



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Torchwood
Genre: Bucky is Jack Harkness's Son, Bucky is a Ho, Jealous Steve Rogers, M/M, a lot of implied sex, implied sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:20:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22295470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brokenpitchpipe/pseuds/Brokenpitchpipe
Summary: It starts on a cold, snowy September night in 1916, on the day Winifred Barnes walks to Doris Lindow’s house to see her new telephone and catches the eye of a handsome young man on the other side of the street. He tips his hat as she sees him, and she flushes scarlet and nods in return.And nine months later, a little baby boy screams his way into the world.But that’s not when itstarts.Not really.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 15
Kudos: 218





	(My God, He Just) Came and Went

**Author's Note:**

> (Loosely inspired by an old Sherlock fic that I cannot find for the life of me.)

It starts on a cold, snowy September night in 1916.

It starts on the day Winifred Barnes walks to Doris Lindow’s house to see her new telephone, and catches the eye of a handsome young man on the other side of the street. He tips his hat as she sees him, and she flushes scarlet and nods in return.

His jacket’s like nothing she’s ever seen before- all blue and bright and new. He has money, that’s for sure.

But the promise of money isn’t what draws her. And she’s not a shallow woman- it’s not the cut of his cheekbones or the curl of his hair just over his eyes in a way she’s never seen before. It’s not the eyes that almost seem to have an otherworldly glow to them, that pick her out of the crowded street and lock on.

It’s more of the click of his heels on the pavement, the way his coat swishes at his ankles. It’s more of the way his lips curl up at the edges into the most irresistible smile she’s ever seen, a smile that’s made of potential. It’s the way he manages to make that smile weave through the crowd and aim directly at her. And then all thoughts of Doris’s telephone fly right out the metaphorical window, and she’s gone down the alleyway between the little Hudnut shop and Marshall’s.

And nine months later, a little baby boy screams his way into the world.

* * *

But that’s not when it _starts._ Not really.

It _starts_ when Bucky Barnes turns fourteen and grows an arm and a leg. And overnight, it seems, suddenly gains the attention of everyone in a five-mile radius who happens to catch his eye.

Steve doesn’t blame them. Bucky’s got eyes that twinkle and a spring in his step. He’s always got a song or a story on his lips; his entire being radiates intrigue, mystery. Bucky Barnes is a wrapped package, and everyone in town wants to start pulling the strings to untie him.

The only thing Steve doesn’t get is why they’re only interested _now._ Sure, Bucky’s a little taller, a little deeper. But he’s always been _Bucky._ He’s always been a curious thing. From the start, when he’d kicked Davy Parr and Keith Shipman right out of the alleyway and picked Steve up out of the gutter with a toothy grin. Right then and there, Steve had seen the light in his eyes, the sway in his step, the otherworldly _something._ And he’d taken Bucky’s hand and Bucky had tugged and Steve had breathed and that had been it, really.

So he knows it’s not doubt that pools in his stomach every time he sees Bucky aim a grin over at someone else.

No. It’s not doubt.

* * *

People _really_ like Bucky when he fleshes out.

They share an apartment, but anyone following Steve would think he lived alone. Bucky hardly spends a night in his own bed, he’s out so much. One girl after the other- Steve can’t keep up with their names. Half the time Bucky doesn’t even tell him, so he stops bothering.

Some girls even have the gall to go up to _Steve_ and ask him if he knows where Bucky is, what Bucky’s doing that night, if he wants some company.

And even though he knows the guilt will pool in his stomach later, Steve brushes them all away. He tells himself that if Bucky hadn’t gone to them first, then he probably doesn’t want them. But Steve knows why he really does it.

(It had taken him long to piece together, but he knows now.)

The Commandos like Bucky- they like Bucky a _lot._

Bucky takes to the spotlight like a fish to water, rallying up the whole group with one tale after another- whether it’s a story of Steve on the battlefield or Steve in the alleyways, it doesn’t matter. He sucks up every ounce of attention he can, and only Steve rolls his eyes because he knows how these stories always go, only Steve presses his flask to his lips and takes a drink, and only Steve frowns when he sees the five pairs of eyes wide with worship, growing wider with every word that leaves Bucky’s mouth.

They roar into the night like wild beasts when Bucky delivers the finishing blow, smashing their canteens onto their laps and living up to their name by howling, shuddering and shaking with mirth. And Bucky sucks it all in, swells up with pride and satisfaction at another story well told. And then he picks up into a song and they all chorus in, holding their canteens up in the air and yelling hoarsely between drinks, shouting half-remembered lyrics to a half-remembered tune.

And Steve watches them laugh, remembers when Bucky had dragged him to the zoo for his seventeenth birthday, how Steve had gone along only on the clause that it was, in fact, his birthday and that meant that Bucky was allowed to go out wherever he wanted. He remembers watching the cage of monkeys screeching and yelling, remembers Bucky pointing and laughing.

And he wonders.

* * *

Steve’s not the only one who mourns, when he’s gone.

He mourns the hardest, he mourns the most, but he is not alone.

They let him have a while to himself, let him try to drink it away, let him curse the lifeblood that runs through his veins now for keeping him from the illusion of ignorance. But when he concedes, they come.

No one laughs, after that. There are no stories, there are no songs. No one tries to fill the void because they all know it’s impossible. There’s something gone, now. The days are less golden, the dirt is harder, the sky and the sun are colder. There’s _something_ gone, something none of them can name.

(Steve can name it.)

(And as he watches the ice soar closer and closer, as the plane sings a swan song as it dives towards the ocean, he thinks he can almost feel it again.)

* * *

He does feel it again, even before the mask comes off and those eyes meet his. He feels it, feels the pull and the intrigue and the something, and then _those eyes meet his_ and he knows.

(And something inside Bucky starts to know, too.)

* * *

When it really, _really_ starts is a long time after that.

When it _starts_ is when Bucky hands Tony Stark the bowl of popcorn and says, “Oh, Stark- I just remembered.”

Tony looks up, taking the popcorn bowl. “Hm?”

“I think I fucked your dad,” Bucky says.

And then he plops down next to Steve and yanks the mug of coffee out of Steve’s hands.

“I,” Steve says.

_“What,”_ Tony says.

“Howard,” Bucky clarifies. They’re past the point of saying Howard’s name out loud, now. No one flinches. Bucky and Tony regularly make eye contact. Things are stable. “Kind of short. Facial hair. Scientist.”

“I know you know who he is,” Tony says. “But you- No.”

“Oh, yeah.” Bucky nods.

“You didn’t,” Steve protests. “You would have told me.”

Bucky snorts. “Lotta things I didn’t tell you, pal.”

“So you’re- into guys?” Tony splutters, as Netflix decides to take their silence as an invitation to play the next episode of _The Great British Bake Off._

“Very into,” Bucky agrees, and winks.

“Oh,” Tony says faintly.

“Well, I knew that,” Steve says. “But- Howard? Really?”

“He was nice,” Bucky says, shrugging. “Least. I think he was. Memory’s a little fuzzy.”

“He was nice,” Steve agrees. Tony glares. “To me,” Steve amends.

“Oh, yeah.” Bucky nods, remembering. “So that’s why he did it.”

“What, he slept with you because he couldn’t have wonder-boy?” Tony snaps. “What about you, huh?”

Bucky bristles. “Oh, grow up, Stark. S’ just sex.”

Tony goes faintly green and shuts his mouth. Steve rolls his eyes and snatches his coffee cup back out of Bucky’s hands.

* * *

“I just did something stupid.”

Steve sighs. “That’s nothing new.”

“No,” Bucky says. “I mean really stupid. _Colossally_ stupid.”

“Bucky.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “If I come home and something is on fire, I swear to god-”

“What- no-” There’s shuffling on the other end of the line, and Steve waits it out, frowning at the lake. It’s harder to get a good run in, in New York. DC had been a little less crowded. But the view of the water is nice, and he can’t deny the push-cart food is to die for.

“Bucky,” he says carefully, after about half a minute of scuffling. “Bucky, what did you do?”

“Uh,” Bucky says. “Stark?”

“What,” Steve says.

“I said colossally stupid,” Bucky’s voice says. “And I think we can both agree he fits the bill pretty well-”

“Bucky.”

“I mean, okay, he’s got the whole genius thing down pretty well, but-”

_“Bucky.”_

“It was an accident?”

Steve stares at the East River, watches a throng of cars pass him by. He closes his eyes slowly, letting out a breath. “How,” he says. “Can this _possibly_ have been an accident.”

“Well, okay,” Bucky says. “He was kinda drunk last night, and he kept talking about his dad, and then he started crying a little bit, so I tried to get him to calm down.”

“And what, you slipped?” Steve snaps. “Bucky, if he was drunk, he couldn’t have fully consented to-”

“I know, I _know,”_ Bucky moans. “But that’s not the problem- he’s fine with it.”

“Then. Wait, hold on, what’s the problem, exactly?” Steve frowns. “Not that I’m giving my blessing or anything, but. If you’re two consenting adults, then we don’t really have a crisis on our hands.”

There’s no problem for Bucky, that is. Steve is a different story. But that problem belongs to Steve and Steve alone so he keeps his mouth shut and trains his eyes on the street for something to distract himself with.

Across the street, the outside greeter at the Battery Gardens restaurant recognizes him. She ducks her head away as he gives a little nod in her direction. Steve makes a mental note to stop over for lunch sometime- he’s always done with his run before they actually open.

“Steve,” Bucky says, voice bordering on hysterical. “Steve, he was _terrible.”_

“Oh.” Steve can’t stop the bubble of laughter before it escapes his throat, and settles on masking it with a well-timed throat clearing. “Well, uh. In that case.”

“I can’t very well say ‘your dad was better’,” Bucky goes on. “I think he’d start crying again.”

“I mean,” Steve says. “You could.”

_“Steve.”_

* * *

“Steve,” Sam says one night, as they peer over Coulson’s monthly Paperwork Bundle. Steve doesn’t understand how or why, but Coulson’s favorite pastime is going through the team’s paperwork and picking out anything and everything he can fill out himself. If it’s an addiction, it’s an extremely useful one. But it means no one actually _gets_ their paperwork until the end of the month, where Coulson hands them back everything they need to read through and sign.

“Mm,” Steve grunts, squinting at the bottom of a page. “What.”

“He’s looking at me.”

Steve looks up at that. Bucky, sitting in the beanbag chair by the wall, gives them both a wink as they catch his eye, and turns back down to his own packet. Bucky’s packets are noticeably thicker than everyone else’s.

“I… guess?” Steve shrugs.

“No, man, you don’t get it.” Sam shakes his head. “He was _looking_ at me.”

“Bucky just.” Steve sighs. “Looks like that. Sometimes.” He doesn’t know how to explain it, exactly, but. He knows what Sam’s talking about.

Sam shakes his head again, narrowing his eyes at the slumped over half-super-soldier in the beanbag.

Steve gets halfway through the next paragraph before Sam kicks him, hard, in the shin. Steve opens his mouth to snap something along the lines of _what the hell, Sam,_ but Sam clenches his jaw and grunts, eyes hard. So Steve shuts his mouth and follows Sam’s gaze back to-

Bucky’s staring straight at Sam, paperwork lying abandoned in his lap. He twirls his pen between his metal fingers a few times before he brings it to his lips and bites.

Sam lets out a little strangled noise.

Steve rolls his eyes and circles a passage that has something to do with donating _far_ too much of his monthly income to dodgy charities. The Salvation Army. _Right._

* * *

It’s rare that anyone wakes up before Steve, ever. But a week long solo mission in Berlin had Steve out cold for fourteen hours straight. He’d managed to stay awake long enough to let SHIELD medical have their fun, but after that he’d made a beeline for his floor, kicked the door to his bedroom open, fallen onto his bed, closed his eyes, and-

He wakes sluggishly to the sound of plates clinking.

Giving a small groan, Steve pushes himself out of bed. The bottom half of his uniform is still pulled tight over his legs, but his chest and shoulders are covered by a SHIELD-issued cotton shirt. Ah, that’s right. They’d given one to him in medical after taking care of the bullet wounds.

The plates clink again, and this time someone laughs. And then someone _else_ laughs. Steve frowns.

He steps over the remnants of his bedroom door and winces at the afternoon light. Tony’s floors are all angled to get as much sunlight as they can, and this morning is no exception.

“So then he says _punch this, motherfucker,”_ Bucky’s voice calls from the kitchen. “And he just _slams_ the shield into her face.”

“He did not,” Sam’s voice gushes. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m serious!” Bucky snorts. “You shoulda been there- lord, the trouble we all got up to.”

Steve peers around the corner of the hallway, and Bucky’s just leaning on the kitchen counter flipping a spatula up and up and up. Sam’s leaning on the other counter staring at him, looking for all the world like he wasn’t having breakfast with the man who had once torn the wings right off of his back.

“Trouble? Cap?” Sam rolls his eyes. “You, I believe. But him?”

“You have _no idea.”_ Bucky’s eyes glint, and Sam stands up a little taller.

“Uh,” Steve says.

Sam leaps a foot into the air. Bucky jerks back an inch or so, which is the brainwashed-soldier-turned-sort-of-civilian equivalent of jumping a foot into the air.

“Steve,” Bucky says, setting the spatula down. Sam stands down again, getting off his tiptoes. “You’re back.”

“Came back last night,” Steve says slowly. He frowns, thinking of the remnants of his door. “You didn’t hear?”

“We were,” Bucky says. “Busy.”

Steve looks between them, looks at the way Sam won’t meet his eyes, at the way Bucky’s shirt is backwards and inside out, at the way his sweats hang loose off his hipbones, at the way Sam looks down at them, almost like he’s still oblivious that Steve is _there, watching him._

Steve spins on his heel, chalking up the faint nausea in his stomach to the fact that he has several bullet wounds in his chest. “I’m going back to bed.”

“Get some sleep, Stevie!” Bucky calls after him.

_“Stevie?”_ he hears Sam mutter, and then he hears what just might be the sound of a spatula hitting skin.

* * *

“Damn,” Clint whistles, as Bucky fires off his last three rounds, straight into the middle of the target. The exercise ring gives a chime, and the lights fizzle for a moment before coming back on.

Bucky leans back with a sigh, thumbing the safety back on and settling the gun onto his chest. Steve eyes it warily, but neither Clint nor Bucky seem to think it’s dangerous. Steve supposes they both know what they’re doing, after all.

“You’re damn right, _damn,"_ Bucky says smugly.

“You still didn’t beat my record,” Clint adds, but his voice isn’t quite confident.

“Didn’t I?”

Bucky looks at Clint, then. _Looks_ at him.

Bucky holds the gun in his metal hand and runs the pads of his fingers absently over the side of the muzzle. He crosses one leg over the other, jeans riding up to show off a slice of ankle- which is somehow visibly toned, like the rest of his body. He flicks his neck and a few strands of hair fly out of his eyes, only to fall right back again.

“Uh,” Clint says.

The room chimes again, and this time it’s accompanied by an image projecting onto the back wall- a list of names with times and accuracy numbers. Clint’s name dominates the first seven, but Natasha has eighth and ninth, and Tony had squeezed out tenth.

His method had involved using the suit and blasting everything simultaneously, which everyone agreed was Not Fair.

The list flickers and changes, and Bucky’s name appears behind the number seven. Underneath him, Clint’s name appears behind the number eight, and Natasha’s two scores fall behind nine and ten.

“Well, there you go,” Bucky purrs. “I beat you.”

He thumbs over the top of the gun before he flicks his fingers off and rubs them together, trying to wipe away the gunpowder.

“Um,” Clint says. “Well. Technically, I still. Hold the record.”

“Several records,” Steve adds. Neither Bucky nor Clint appear to hear him.

“I kicked Stark off the list,” Bucky points out. “That’s got to count for something, right?”

Clint gives a little laugh, but it sounds like it’s caught somewhere in his throat halfway. He coughs. Bucky takes a step off the wall.

“Well, this was fun,” Steve says. “But some of us do still have paperwork to do.”

He’s expecting Bucky to fire back with something along the lines of _just take it to Coulson, you know he’ll just fill it out anyway,_ but again his words fall on deaf ears. He rolls his eyes and heads out of the exercise ring- if Bucky and Clint really want to have another match, they can shoot to their heart’s content. Steve doesn’t get why contests like that are so interesting to some people. If two people are good at a skill, what does it matter who’s better?

As he wanders into the elevator, he hears a faint _thunk._ He smiles to himself. If Clint thinks he can even begin to take Bucky on in hand-to-hand combat, then he’s got another thing coming.

* * *

The truce between Tony and Bucky is stable at best, and unstable at worst. But it has never, thus far, actually broken.

Steve starts to doubt that when he wanders into the communal floor one day and opens the door to see Tony, red in the face, shouting abuse at Bucky.

Bucky, who looks. Actually sheepish about something?

“And for another thing,” Tony spits, “I could take this to authorities- that’s not just my property, that’s under _SHIELD’s_ name too. And defacing government property is a goddamn crime, Barnes, I will have you know-”

“SHIELD’s not with the government,” Bucky tries.

“Parts of it are,” Tony hisses. “And the parts of it that are _bought all of that equipment.”_

“Look, I said I was sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear ‘sorry’, I want a promise that you’ll never do that again. Ever.”

“All right, all right!”

“Something wrong?” Steve interjects, stepping into the room. Bucky and Tony are stood on opposite sides of a hologram projection. It’s turned so that Steve can only see the side of it; he can’t make out the picture. Tony is four foot nothing and red with anger- but Bucky is leaning on the wall, looking almost bored.

Tony, fuming, turns to face Steve. “I knew it was a mistake letting him live here, Steve, I _knew it.”_

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Steve holds his hands up. “Slow down, Tony. Why don’t you just tell me what’s wrong- we’ll work it out, all right?”

“He’s mad I bumped his record off the leaderboard,” Bucky chimes in, sending Steve a wink.

“Don’t do that,” Tony snaps.

“Do what?” Bucky asks, innocently.

“That- the thing. That thing. You know what I mean.”

“Calm down,” Steve says firmly. He doesn’t like pulling out the Captain America voice too often, but it usually does the trick. Tony stands down, folding his arms.

“Either that,” Bucky says, “or he’s just jealous.”

“Jealous,” Steve repeats, but before he can ask _of what,_ Bucky swings his hand at the hologram and it spins to show Steve the full picture.

It’s a security feed of the exercise ring, playing back silently. It’s sped up to about five times normal speed, but Steve can still make out the two figures rutting furiously on the wrestling mat. He can’t make out exact details, but he can make out the glint of an arm and that’s enough, really. He takes a step back, looking away as quickly as he can. The little pool of nausea starts to grow in his stomach, and he shoves it away with sheer force of will.

Bucky snorts and tugs the hologram back again. “Like I said,” he hums. “Jealous.”

“I am not _jealous,”_ Tony hisses. “I’m just- surprisingly to you but _not surprising to anyone else who has a brain-_ against the defilement of _public places.”_

“Tony,” Steve says, “you’ve defiled more parts of this tower than I think anyone knows exist.”

“Mm, point,” Bucky says. “Seriously, Stark, are you just jealous?”

“I am not- jealous,” Tony bites. “Rogers, you’re supposed to take my side on this. What the hell?”

“Well,” Steve says slowly. “They’re both adults. And they’re not hurting anyone.”

“They’re hurting me!” Tony shouts. “Emotionally!”

“You don’t count,” Bucky says. Steve sends a thankful glance his way- they’d both been thinking it, but Bucky’s got nothing to lose by saying so. “You got emotionally offended by the series finale of whatever-the-fuck. How I Met Your Mother.”

_“That is beside the point,”_ Tony snarls.

“Look, if you just want another go,” Bucky starts.

“Out,” Tony snaps. _“Out!_ Both of you!”

“All right, all right,” Bucky sighs. “Steve- you look ready for a workout.” He grins. “Spar with me?”

“Jesus,” Tony moans. “Jesus, no- _you two have an entire floor to yourselves.”_

Steve goes pink. “Tony, you know that’s not what he meant.”

Bucky just grabs Steve’s arm and hauls him backwards into the elevator. And if he smashes the ‘close-door’ button with perhaps a little too much force, then, well. Steve doesn’t say anything.

* * *

Thor’s almost never around the tower, but when he is, everyone becomes noticeably more cheerful.

It’s a rare day when he’s back on earth for non-superhero business, but he’d showed up on Friday night proclaiming that he’d gotten the next week off “as a gift from the gods.” No one’s sure if that’s a turn of phrase or a literal fact, so none of them ask.

Nights with Thor usually include parties, and parties with Thor usually include yelling. And singing. And drinking.

A _lot_ of drinking.

After learning that nothing else could get either Bucky or Steve properly drunk, Thor makes it a point to bring them both flasks of Asgardian mead whenever he shows up. Tony had tried to steal some once.

There’s still a faint smell of vomit over by the east window, no matter how much carpet cleaner they use.

Steve is pleasantly buzzed, now. He doesn’t like getting roaring drunk because it happens so sparingly that he’s just not sure what he’d do. And with strength and stamina like his, he doesn’t want to risk turning into a hazard.

Bucky, on the other hand, downs half of his flask at the drop of a hat, not wanting to waste a single moment. Bucky had always loved being drunk, and Steve’s glad he can have this, every once in a while.

Bucky’s an interesting drunk. Steve knows all of the types- had seen them come up with the neighbors, with the Commandos, and now with everyone else here. Morita and Dum-Dum had been raucous, party drunks, always singing and yelling and laughing. Gabe and Dernier had been somber drunks- they’d always flourished best while just tipsy, and any more than that would send them tumbling down into despair. Falsworth had been a flirty drunk, and they’d all teased the hell out of him for it. The minute he started slurring, he’d put a hand on whichever thigh he could find and stutter something about union jacks.

But Bucky’s different. When Bucky’s drunk, it’s almost impossible to tell. Only Steve knows the difference.

When Bucky’s drunk, he flips a little switch. His steps are faster, his hands more expressive. His lips twist and curl and his eyes never stop gleaming. He doesn’t lose a lick of inhibitions- if anything, alcohol makes him even sharper. Quicker witted. And everyone who can see him draws closer, impossibly pulled by some magnetic force. And Bucky drinks it right up.

Only Steve watches as Bucky transforms, as his voice curdles and smooths over, as Thor trails off in the middle of his latest Asgardian tale.

Natasha frowns as he stops, and follows his gaze. And Bucky.

Bucky _looks_ at both of them.

Steve sighs and screws on the cap of his mead, wondering which floor might have the nicest couch.

* * *

“My coworkers- _my coworkers-”_

“They ain’t _yours,_ Stark.”

This time, neither Bucky nor Tony realize when Steve steps into the room. But this time, it’s Steve and Bucky’s floor, not the communal kitchen. Bucky’s standing straight in the middle of the floor, dressed in nothing but a pair of sweats. Tony, on the other hand, is dressed from head to toe. Steve spares a thought to wonder where Natasha and Thor have gone off to, but that doesn’t seem to matter right now.

“That’s beside the point,” Tony says.

“And what’s your point? That you don’t like what I do in my personal life? Well, I’ve got some news for you- _it ain’t a bit of your business.”_

“It was my business when you started fooling around with my coworkers.”

“They ain’t _yours._ I can fool around with whoever I damn well want.”

“Oh, I bet you will.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I know your type- willing, and with a pulse.”

“It’s called being good at what I do.”

“It’s called being a-”

_“Enough,”_ Steve thunders. Both of them jolt. Bucky looks furiously from Steve to Tony. “Out,” Steve says, pointing at Tony. “Now.” Tony, to his credit, takes a step back.

“No, no,” Bucky growls. “We’re not finished yet. What was that you were gonna call me, Stark?”

“You know exactly what,” Tony hisses.

“And you’re not going to say it,” Steve cuts in, “because if you do, I’m going to send you to SHIELD medical for a week. Understand?”

“Steve, stay outta this,” Bucky snaps. “Stark, you’re just jealous, aren’t you?”

“Jealous? Hardly. At least I’ve got balls. I notice you haven’t asked-”

“Stark,” Bucky grunts, cutting him off.

“Tony,” Steve warns.

“Don’t deny it,” Bucky spits. “You’re jealous I haven’t asked _you_ back, aren’t you? You’re jealous I’ve asked everyone else. And you wanna know why?”

“Bucky,” Steve warns.

“Don’t you dare,” Tony starts.

“Because your dad was about ten times better of a lay than you were,” Bucky finishes smugly.

“Bucky!” Steve chides. “Bucky, no.”

“Why, you-” Tony spits, and then he flings himself at Bucky.

“Tony!” Steve yells, but Bucky meets Tony halfway in the middle and Steve reaches out to stop Bucky from punching a metal-fist-sized dent into Tony’s face, to stop Tony from winding Bucky in his unarmored chest, but-

But Bucky’s metal hand doesn’t clench into a fist, and though Tony’s hand reaches Bucky’s chest, it certainly doesn’t punch. Steve can both see _and hear_ their teeth clack together uncomfortably, hears the grunt of what must be equal parts frustration and want from Tony’s throat, and takes a step back as they both stumble back into the wall, first one pinning the other, then turning to switch.

Bucky pulls off with an awful sucking sound, staring venomously at Tony.

“Trying to make someone jealous?” Tony hums. Steve frowns, not quite understanding, but Bucky grabs Tony by the waist and slams him into the wall.

“Still terrible,” he says.

“Maybe you’re just not trying hard enough,” Tony fires back.

“Ass,” Bucky spits, and kisses him again.

It’s… nauseating, if Steve is being perfectly honest. He’s seen Bucky kiss people before, and this just feels... wrong. Tony and Bucky don’t match together at all. They try to grab at the same time, they bump noses and smash their faces together. Tony bites down on Bucky’s lip hard enough to actually draw blood, and Bucky pulls off again with a yelp.

“Too rough for you?” Tony hums, smugly.

“Yeah, no shit,” Bucky snarls. “I changed my mind. You’re the _worst_ I’ve ever had. The absolute worst. Happy now? You want a trophy?”

“Worst, really?” Tony raises an eyebrow. “In a hundred years?”

_“Yes,”_ Bucky says.

Tony glares at him for a moment- before his vision clears and he shrugs. “Fair enough,” he says. “I’ll take it.”

“What- really?” Bucky blinks. He steps away and Tony wipes his mouth. And impossibly, he grins.

“Yep. A hundred years, and I was the only one you couldn’t…” He searches for the right word for a moment before landing on, “seduce.” And then he smirks. “Well, except-”

“Enough. Out,” Bucky snaps, and Tony gives him a knowing grin.

“I hate you,” Tony calls, as he hops over to the elevator.

“Fuck off,” Bucky calls back. Tony blows a kiss, and the elevator doors close in front of him.

They stand in silence for a moment or two, before Bucky presses two fingers to his lips and squints down at the blood.

“Well,” he says. “That went well.”

* * *

After Thor and Natasha, Steve stops keeping track.

It doesn’t take long for Bucky to make his rounds around the tower. By the time the one-year anniversary of the truce rolls around- the truce that is now _actually stable-_ he’s gotten bored. Sure, the team is nice, but making a regular thing with any of them would screw with the dynamic.

_In more ways than one._

_Christ, Bucky, shut up._

And sure, it’s fun to mess with the coffee boys every once in a while, but they’re technically working under him, and there’s that whole thing about boss-employee relations, and it’s just not worth the trouble.

And _sure,_ all right, every other mission or so, one of the evac team will be assigned to him for backup protection, and they’ll have to meet for four hours before the mission, and _really,_ how else is he supposed to spend four hours?

But after a year or so, he’s bored. It’s no fun if everyone knows the punchline- there’s no intrigue to Bucky anymore. He doesn’t seem to mind, but Steve can’t help but wonder if it’s secretly getting him down.

He manages to worry about it for about a month before he has to stop. Because aliens start attacking the tower.

Tony slams the tower into lockdown, they all suit up, and then the common floor is full of yellow mucus, half-fish-half-people that they’re pretty sure are aliens, and yelling.

It’s by no means the hardest fight they’ve ever had- especially not after Natasha figures out that half-fish-half-people-aliens are more susceptible to electricity than normal humans- but it’s still a workout. They’re not used to fighting like this, cooped up inside four walls, under a ceiling, over a floor. One of them snags Steve’s leg and drags him down- and his head knocks against the corner of the coffee table.

“Steve!” Bucky roars, firing a round at the thing and kicking it off of Steve. “Steve, you all right?”

“I’ve had worse,” Steve grunts, sitting up. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Course I’m gonna worry about you,” Bucky murmurs. “You’re-”

But exactly what Steve is, he doesn’t find out. Because a noise sounds through the din just then, a sharp, electronic noise. And then something white flashes, the room goes stock-still, and then three people _appear._

“-told you, I’ve got the right- oh,” says the tallest of them- a handsome man dressed sharply in a blue coat. He looks up as he sees the rest of the room, and then his eyes widen. “See?”

“ _Jack._ That thing’s supposed to be used for time,” chides the other man, a little shorter. He folds his arms, frowning. “Not for just jumping around.”

“The place was on lockdown, what was I supposed to do?” the man called Jack asks, raising his eyebrows. “I got us where we needed to go- what’s the big deal?”

“The place was on lockdown for a _reason,”_ says the woman crossly.

“Sorry,” Tony says, and the three interlopers look up at him. Tony’s faceplate slides up and he frowns at the three of them. “A couple questions. What are you doing in my tower? And also- right, the lockdown thing- _how_ did you get in my tower?”

“Oh!” Jack says, and takes a step forward.

“Jack,” the other man mutters, warningly. Jack pays him no attention, and crosses the room without a second thought. At the movement, the half-fish-half-man attached to Tony’s leg gives a snarl and makes to grab at him. Jack barely even looks down at the thing, just pulls out a gun from his pocket and shoots.

Only it’s not a gun, because it’s not a bullet that comes out of the end.

Everyone in the room- Tony, Natasha, Steve, Clint, and Bucky- puts their hands to their weapons, ready. And instantaneously, the other man and the woman draw guns of their own.

“Relax,” Jack says. _“Relax._ We’re not here to hurt anybody, all right? We’re just here to take care of this.”

“We’ve got it covered, thanks,” Natasha says.

“You don’t even know what these are,” Jack points out, looking down at the dead alien on the floor.

“We don’t have to,” Natasha says. “We just need to know how to kill them.”

“Well, that’s a pretty narrow way to think.” Jack raises an eyebrow. “Trust me. I know more about these than you do. We got a tip-off about some Blowfish headed for New York, which is interesting because they usually don’t go overseas- but that’s beside the point.”

“Blowfish?” Clint echoes, from where he’s perched on top of the refrigerator.

Jack winks. “Told you I knew more.” He claps his hands together. “Now,” he says. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Which would you-”

And then he freezes. Steve follows his gaze, to where he’s staring, transfixed, at Bucky. And Bucky stares back, puzzled at first. And then his eyes widen impossibly, and he drops the knife in his hand.

“Oh, god,” Tony mutters. “Not again.”

“Bucky,” Steve warns, but before he can say _no-_

“Dad,” Bucky says weakly.

No one speaks.

The woman and the man behind Jack look incredulously between him and Bucky. The woman’s eyes skyrocket, but the man just shrugs, as if he’s not surprised. Tony, Natasha, Steve and Clint all stare at Bucky, who takes a shaky step forward.

_“Bucko,”_ Jack gasps, and runs to meet him. Bucky gives a _whoop_ and grabs him around the middle, spinning him around on the spot. “Bucko, what are you doing here?”

“Trying to save the world?” Bucky snarks, punching Jack in the arm and letting him go.

“You’re doing a terrific job,” Jack snarks back, looking at the room full of petrified Blowfish.

“Shut up- you want records, go search SHIELD’s files.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Jack says, but he smiles. “Seriously, what are you doing here? Last time I saw you was, what. 1941?”

“Sounds about right,” Bucky agrees. “Great year, wasn’t it?”

Jack returns the sarcasm. “Fantastic.”

“Hey, uh,” the other man says, stepping in. “Sorry to interrupt, but. Aren’t we on a tight schedule?”

“Schedule- _schmedule,”_ Jack says, and by the look on the other man’s face, he’s committed a grand atrocity by uttering the words. “I didn’t mean that,” he says quickly. “But- come on, guys. We’ve literally got all the time in the world.”

“That’s true,” the woman points out.

“And what a gizmo,” Jack breathes, holding Bucky’s metal arm up and looking it over. “Not bad, for- what is this? 2017?”

“2018,” Bucky corrects. “It’s had a couple upgrades.”

Steve stands up. Jack tears his eyes off of Bucky and blinks, looking at Steve, and-

And something _pulls_ behind Steve’s chest. The rest of the room doesn’t black out, exactly, but it goes soft and out of focus at the edges. Jack grins at him, and his smile is so infectious that Steve can’t help but return it. Jack takes a step forward, and his boots _clack_ on the floor, and-

“Who is _this_ tall glass of water,” Jack hums, voice turning to chocolate. Steve thinks a sound leaves his throat, but he’s not sure. He can’t hear much of anything else except that voice, and then-

“Dad,” Bucky says, and the world slides back. “No.”

Jack pouts, and then he shrugs and steps back, and Steve can breathe again. He clears his throat and looks around the room, and every single member of the team is staring at him.

“Oh my god,” Tony says. “You _are_ his dad.”

“1916,” Jack agrees. “I remember his mother- what a girl.” He sighs. And then he claps his hands together. “What do you say we take care of this mess and catch up over some- what do people eat in New York? Cheesecake?”

* * *

They learn the man’s name is Ianto, and the woman’s name is Tosh. Jack leaves the two of them with the rest of the team, and asks Bucky to come up with him to his floor. Bucky agrees, but tugs Steve along with him.

Steve hesitates- as Jack fires off another _look_ at him and his heart thuds under his rib cage- but Bucky swats Jack on the arm again and Jack looks away and then everything’s fine again, sort of.

“So you,” Steve says awkwardly, as Bucky makes them coffee. “Travel through time?”

“Sometimes,” Jack agrees, nodding. “Not so much, anymore. I’ve been staying over in Cardiff for a while, just doing business work.”

“Right,” Steve says. “And. You’re here, because.”

“We deal with those things all the time,” Jack says, waving a hand vaguely in the air. “They’re not the only aliens out there, you know.”

“We know,” Steve says.

“Right,” Jack hums. “You’re a little more, ah. Open about this kind of stuff. I always forget.”

“And you’re not?” Steve prompts.

“Not usually.” Jack shrugs. “We’re under orders to keep things under wraps as best we can- which makes some things easier, and some things worse.”

“I can imagine.” Steve laughs a little, and then the tension leaks out just a little. Jack is… nice. “So, how did you end up with Bucky, huh?”

“I got stuck in 1916 for a bit,” Jack explains. “I spent most of my time around in England, but I came over to the states every so often when I got bored.”

“He’s got this thing,” Bucky pipes up, reaching for three mugs. “Where he can’t die. No matter how hard you try.”

“Hey,” Jack whines. Steve laughs again.

“So you met Winifred?” he asks.

“I met her,” he agrees, nodding. “Didn’t mean to end up with Bucko, here, but. I tried to help out as best I could. Knew how the 1920’s were going to end up, so I stuck around until I knew she’d be all right.”

“He does this a lot,” Bucky mutters.

“What, shows up in different years and spawns children wherever he steps?”

“Pretty much,” Bucky agrees.

“You make it sound so terrible,” Jack sighs.

“You _are_ terrible,” Bucky shoots back.

“He’s right,” Jack hums, and looks over at Steve. And everything is blurred again, and the table is more in the way than Steve remembers it being, and he can’t smell coffee anymore because it’s blocked out by _something else_ and he realizes his mouth is open and something wet is sliding between his lips and he realizes it’s his tongue- and Jack sees it too and grins, and those lips curl up and Steve wonders what they look like when they part just so-

“You _are_ a tall glass of water,” Jack murmurs. “My god. All you need now is a pitcher of greek oil. I could take you to Greece, you know.”

Bucky slams down the mugs of coffee on the table, and Steve leaps back a foot, his chair honking on the ground.

_“Dad,”_ he snarls.

“All right, all _right,_ he’s all yours, _”_ Jack grumbles. “But he’s not making this easy.”

_Yours?_ Steve thinks.

“I don’t care.” Bucky folds his arms. “He’s off limits.”

Steve presses a hand to his forehead. “What,” he mumbles. “What _is that.”_

“Side effect of being me,” Jack hums. “Here’s a little secret for you- I’m not actually human.”

_“What,”_ Steve breathes.

“Oh, he’s human, all right,” Bucky mutters.

“Sort of human,” Jack says. “I’m from another planet.” He shrugs. “Humans were a little different in the 51st century- not too different, but different enough.”

“51st,” Steve echoes weakly.

“I have a certain,” Jack says. “Effect. On people.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Steve clears his throat, ears going pink.

“Bucko does too,” Jack adds. “But at about half the power. Maybe a little less.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, realizing. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“I call it my natural charm,” Bucky hums, taking a seat between them and reaching for his coffee. “Tony calls it being a slut.”

“And I call it being a consenting adult,” Steve starts, but Bucky laughs before he can continue.

“Jesus, Steve, calm down. I don’t care what anyone calls me, long as no one gets hurt.”

“That’s my boy,” Jack coos. Bucky punches his arm again.

* * *

But that’s still not when it starts.

When it _starts._

When it _starts_ is later, when Bucky pulls Steve up out of the crater he’s just left in the street, looks him in the eyes, and Steve’s heart feels something tug him forward.

When it _starts_ is when Bucky dives below his punch, twists his legs around Steve’s neck, falls down, and pins Steve down to the mat with his own weight, when Bucky’s eyes lock onto his, and he feels the rest of the room melt away, just a little.

It’s when they’re all sitting around the communal movie room and Bruce is back and Bucky’s telling him about his father and they’re all waiting to see if Bruce believes him or not and Bruce looks Bucky straight in the eye and says he lost his virginity to a time traveler when he was seventeen and Bucky laughs as loud and as hard as he can and looks at Steve and Steve wants to pick him up off the couch and fold him into his arms and kiss him and-

All right, so that’s when it _starts._

* * *

“None of you actually slept with him, right?”

Natasha doesn’t take her eyes off of her thin stack of papers. “Which one?” she asks. “Barnes?”

“No, I _know_ you all slept with Barnes,” Tony grumbles. “I mean the other one.”

“Gross, man,” Clint moans. “No. That’s weird.”

“But you wanted to,” Tony points out. “Right?”

“Well, duh.” Clint shrugs.

“I did,” Thor booms, reaching for another pencil. It’s not often that Thor shows up to actually fill out paperwork, so he’s got a backlog. He goes through about three pencils per packet.

“I _know,”_ Natasha hums.

“No,” Thor says. “The man in blue. He was very satisfying.”

Steve chokes. Everyone stares at Thor, who shrugs.

“Well,” Bucky hums. “You’re both supernaturally old aliens, it kinda makes sense. I give you my blessing.”

* * *

They’re cleaning up from a mission in Kastoria, both sat in the back of the SHIELD jet that’s taking them back home. They still have about five hours left to go by the time they’ve patched themselves up.

It’s just Bucky and Steve on this one, they hadn’t needed the whole team.

And part of Steve wonders if they’d needed the both of them for this mission, really- and part of him also notices that their base of operations had been a hotel right on the beach, and that the weather had happened to be warm and balmy- and part of him shoves that away because it’s clearly not important.

But they’d gotten a few scrapes and burns along the way, and now they’re sat in the back of the SHIELD jet, and Bucky’s tugged his shirt off to tape up the lines of scrapes over his chest, and Steve is-

Drooling. Steve is drooling.

He sits up and wipes furiously at his mouth, looking away. Bucky doesn’t seem to notice, because he keeps dabbing at his side, hissing every so often as the antibacterial rag stings against his skin.

“Hey,” Steve says, trying to concentrate on anything other than the way Bucky’s chest glows with sweat, the way his stomach rises and falls as he breathes.

“Hey,” Bucky says, looking up and shooting him a grin. Steve feels the pull again. He almost stands up and crosses over to the other side of the jet, but he wills himself to stay down.

“So, your dad,” he says, desperate for a subject to talk about and going with the first thing that comes to mind.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “What about him?”

“Uh,” Steve says, looking down. “He’s. He was. Nice.”

Bucky sighs. “I’m sorry about him- if that’s what you’re worried about.” He shrugs. “He gets like that, with people. I tried to make him stay offa you, but.” He snorts. “You saw how well that went.”

“Yeah,” Steve says weakly.

“If,” Bucky says, looking a little awkward. “I mean, if. If you wanted to get in touch with him, I could-”

“No!” Steve says quickly, shaking his head. “No, no- I mean, he’s nice and all, but-”

“All right, all right, I getcha.” Bucky seals the tape down over his burn and lets out a breath, then sits back against the wall of the jet. He doesn’t make a move to tug a shirt back on, and Steve doesn’t want to mention it.

“He had that,” he says. “Thing.”

“Steve,” Bucky says, “don’t worry about it.”

“And you have it, too,” Steve says.

Bucky folds his arms, looking uncomfortable for the first time in a while. Steve tries to remember the last time he’d seen Bucky look this out of sorts, but the memory doesn’t come.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “I do.”

“But I’ve never felt it,” Steve finishes.

“Yeah.” Bucky blows out a breath. “I asked him about that. And he said you probably just got desensitized to it, since we met so early. You and I, we were together for most of our lives, so. You’re tuned out, I guess.”

“I wasn’t to him,” Steve points out.

“He’s.” Bucky snorts. “He’s a lot more… _him.”_

“Fuckable?” Steve supplies.

Bucky gives him an easy smile. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

* * *

Avengers Netflix nights are weekly gatherings, now. Every Saturday night, whoever’s left in the tower that week will head down to the communal floor and take a seat around the giant screen above the fire. They rotate out what to watch whenever they feel like it, and so far the only argument has been a debate between whether to introduce Bucky and Steve to Star Wars or Star Trek faster.

(They settle on Star Wars, because there’s simply less material.)

But now they’ve been stuck on _The Great British Bake Off_ for a while, and they’re deep in season two. It’s a rare night when most of the team is back, save for Natasha and Bruce. Thor, Clint, Tony, Bucky, and Steve are all circled around the screen in various states of sleep-wear. The weather’s getting warmer now so they’re abandoning the blankets in favor of portable fans.

Bucky in particular is feeling the heat- it’s the one downside to his mechanical arm. Tony had tried and tried again to fix it, but there was simply nothing to be done about it. The damn thing overheats at the drop of a hat, particularly if Bucky sleeps on it.

So he’s dressed down to nothing but a pair of shorts, slouched over on the beanbag chair by the window to catch as much draft as he can. Everyone had spared him a long look as he’d come in, but everyone’s acclimated to _him_ by now, so no one says anything.

Well.

Steve makes it to their third episode before Bucky wipes the sweat off of his pectorals, and then he opens his mouth to yawn, and-

“I think you’re fuckable,” Steve says, apropos of nothing.

Everyone in the room turns to stare at him. Tony fumbles blindly with the remote, but can’t get Netflix to pause, so _The Great British Bake Off_ keeps playing.

“Uh,” Bucky says. “Thank. You?”

_“Maybe my mokatines will go in the window of a French patisseries that’s a bit down on its luck,”_ Tamal says.

“I think you’re very fuckable,” Steve says.

“Oh, _now_ you get it,” Clint mutters. “Took you long enough.”

“Steve,” Bucky says quietly. “That’s. Nice of you to say, really.”

“I want to have sex with you,” Steve says. “Right now.”

_“They’ve been through some tough times,”_ Tamal says, _“but the plucky little guys keep-”_

Tony’s thumb finds the pause button and Tamal freezes.

“Steve?” Bucky says, standing up slowly. “Are… you okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” Steve says, voice strained. “I’m fine.”

Bucky looks down at himself. “I forgot to shower,” he mutters. “Shit.”

“I thought you were more _you_ than normal,” Clint says, nodding thoughtfully.

“Indeed,” Thor agrees. “Friend Barnes is most alluring, tonight. If I were a lesser man, I might have-”

“All right, all right, geez. I’ll clean up.” Bucky stands, and Steve catches a whiff of his sweat, and he stands too. “Steve,” Bucky sighs. “Siddown, pal.”

“I want to come with you,” Steve says.

“No, you don’t.” Bucky gives him a lopsided smile, and through the haze and the off-focus and the sweet smell, Steve sees something there. His eyes aren’t twinkling or gleaming, they aren’t smiling, they’re-

Sad.

And one moment of hesitation is all Bucky needs to pat him on the shoulder and pass him by.

“Uh,” Clint says, and Steve tears his gaze away from the elevator doors. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been closed, now. A few seconds? Minutes? “You all right?”

Steve clears his throat and sits back down in his bean bag chair. “Fine,” he mutters.

“You don’t look fine,” Tony points out.

“I said I’m fine.” Steve grabs a blanket from the abandoned pile beside the couch and drapes it over himself, going red.

“Weird,” Clint muses, watching Steve with interest. “You know, you were the only one he didn’t get.”

“Barton,” Steve growls.

“Yeah, hey,” Tony says. “What’s up with that? He never did anything to you.”

“I grew up with him,” Steve says shortly. “He doesn’t- affect- me.”

Thor booms a laugh. “Apologies,” he says, shaking his head. “But there is clear evidence to the contrary.”

“He doesn’t!” Steve protests, tugging the blanket a little harder around himself. Tony, Thor, and Clint all exchange glances at one another, then look back at Steve. Steve huffs. “His father did, all right. But. Bucky’s different. He’s not. I’m not.” He crosses his arms.

“That’s a real eloquent argument, Cap,” Tony hums. “Can’t argue with that.”

“I have a theory,” Thor says.

“Shoot, big boy,” Tony says.

“Perhaps the good Captain was simply not aware of friend Barnes’s… ah, presence- until now.”

“What,” Clint says, “you think his dear old dad jostled something loose?”

“It is possible,” Thor says with a shrug. “We have all experienced Barnes’s. Presence.”

“Amen,” Clint mutters.

“-except the Captain,” Thor finishes. “And, therefore, he is the most affected.” He pauses. “Perhaps. It is, after all, merely a theory.”

“Could be,” Tony agrees.

Steve shakes his head. “Okay, ignoring the fact that all of you are wrong right now- just. You’re wrong, but I’m putting that to the side.”

“Gotcha.” Tony smirks.

“Even if that were true- which it’s not,” Steve says. “He doesn’t want- I mean. You all saw that.”

Again, the three of them exchange glances.

“Which one of you wants to go first?” Tony asks. Clint raises his hand. “Good idea,” Tony says. “I’ll start.” He clears his throat.

“Dear Captain,” Thor interjects. “Imagine you possessed the power that your friend Barnes wields. The power to… connect with others. To attract.”

“Um,” Steve says.

“Perhaps not the power to overwrite their minds entirely, but the power to influence,” Thor corrects. “A dangerous proposition, no?”

“It could be,” Steve admits.

“Now imagine,” Tony says, catching on. “Now imagine you’ve got your eye on someone, right?”

“Tony,” Steve starts, but Tony ignores him.

“And imagine you had the power to just _make them_ want you, too.”

Steve stares at Tony, horror-struck.

“Exactly,” Tony says, clicking his fingers. “Now imagine you thought you used that power to do exactly that, without meaning to. What would you do?”

“I’d,” Steve says weakly. “I’d- well. I’d. Disarm the situation.”

“Take a cold shower,” Clint supplies.

“You’re not saying,” Steve says slowly. “You’re not saying he.”

“It is not polite in Midgardian or Asgardian culture to, as you say, ‘kiss and tell’,” Thor says wisely. “But I can assure you that your friend thinks quite highly of you, in the terms of-”

“Careful,” Clint says, cutting him off. “If you go too far, you might make him cry.”

“Do it,” Tony says, immediately.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Steve says. “Thor, you- you mean he talked about- me?”

“Oh my god, tell him,” Tony whines. “Thor, tell him.”

Thor looks torn. “The lady Natasha has told me not to speak of it,” he explains.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever- tell him,” Tony says. “I’ll apologize to Nat for you.”

“She only told you not to tell Steve,” Clint points out. “She didn’t say not to tell the rest of us.”

“But I have already _told_ the rest of you,” Thor says.

“Wait- hold on, everyone knows about this?” Steve cuts in.

“Uh,” Tony says. “Yeah? I think everyone?”

“Right,” Steve says, and stands up.

* * *

The shower is still on by the time Steve reaches their floor.

“Bucky,” he says through the door, and he hears the sound of several empty bottles hitting the bottom of the tub. He rolls his eyes- he’s _told_ Bucky to throw those out.

“Steve?” Bucky calls, through the spray and the curtain and the door. The bottles topple again and Steve hears him curse under his breath. “Steve, go back downstairs- I’ll be down in a few minutes, yeah?”

“Bucky,” Steve says calmly. He can’t see or smell or feel Bucky like this, which has to mean something. “Bucky, I’ve been in love with you since I was fourteen, and I didn’t think you felt the same, and I’ve had to watch you be with about a hundred thousand other people now, and I think Thor said you thought I’d be good in bed and I think Tony thinks you have feelings for me and- my point is.” He stops to take a breath. “If you want to try something, I. Would want that too. Not just because you’re… you, but. Because you’re _you.”_

There’s a long, stretched-out silence, and the guilt and nausea and fury in Steve’s stomach heats to a boil and pumps through his veins. Not a single bottle falls. And then.

“I can’t hear you over the water,” Bucky says. “What did you say?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Steve mutters, and kicks down the door.

* * *

Bucky stretches his arms over his head and cracks his back, sighing.

“Oh,” Steve says.

Bucky groans into the stretch and lies back down beside Steve. “Mm,” he agrees.

“That was,” Steve says.

_“Mm,”_ Bucky agrees.

“It is always like that?” Steve asks, head lolling to the side to meet Bucky’s eyes. He doesn’t even have the strength to sit up.

“Not always,” Bucky says. “But with you, I think it will be.”

“You sweet talk all your lays?” Steve hums, giving a tired smile. Bucky returns it with one of his own.

“Only the ones I’ve had my eye on for a while,” he returns.

“How long’s a while?”

“Get this,” Bucky says. “Ever since I was eighteen.”

“Pal.” Steve fights a yawn, but it comes anyway. Bucky laughs softly and tugs the blankets up over them. “Pal,” Steve tries again. “Have I got a story for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written four years ago. I found it in my files while I was cleaning and it made me laugh, so I decided to share it with you all. I hope it made you laugh, too.
> 
> I'm considering this my unofficial goodbye from the fandom world; I'm writing an original novel and spending most of my time and energy working on my own mental health journey, and I believe fandom has run its course in my life (at least for now.) The fandom community has given me so much over the years. I've met multitudes of people who've shown me so much joy and love, and I hope I've been able to share that joy and love in return. Thank you to every kudos, comment, and read. I love you all.


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